Second Chance
by Nelsynoo
Summary: Since, in my headcanon, my Inquisitor and Cullen had their first kiss in Haven right before the Inquisitor went to certain death against Corypheus, I needed to re-write the battlements kiss scene to accommodate this. This is a fluffy one-shot.


**Note:** Since Anwen and Cullen's first kiss was at Haven (See _No Regrets_ , also uploaded here), the battlements scene had to be re-written to accommodate this headcanon.

Anwen is usually very eloquent, very witty and suave with her words (to the extent that she can be quite manipulative). So I like the idea that Cullen is one of the only people that can make her trip over her words.

This ended up really bloody long considering it's only describing a kiss!

 **Update:** reposted since I tidied up some of the language.

* * *

The kiss, with hindsight, was probably a daft idea.

Obviously it was utterly _glorious_ and even the whisper of its memory was enough to make Anwen's lips tingle. But given that she was still uncertain as to the nature of Cullen's feelings for her, it had probably been _profoundly_ _unwise_.

Unfortunately, while Cullen's true feelings remained a mystery – Anwen was all _too aware_ of her own.

Anwen had liked Cullen almost from the first moment. He was smart, and quiet, with a straightforward honesty that she'd always admired in people (though rarely replicated). For someone whose life had been characterised by transience, there was a satisfying solidness about Cullen. He was dependable and steady – _real_ – with no hint of pretense.

As the responsibilities associated with being the Herald had mounted, she'd taken to seeking out his company more and more, finding solace in the very presence of him.

And then she'd noticed the way his nose wrinkled when he laughed at her jokes. The way he held her gaze when she spoke. The way he didn't back down when she argued with him, conveying his opinions with a steely confidence. In time she no longer saw him as a mere retreat from her responsibilities, a source of comfort from her troubles; she saw him as a _man_ – with thoughtful eyes, a commanding voice, and a backside that verged on the _majestic_.

And she was utterly besotted.

Of course she'd never said anything; it just never seemed like the _right time_. Cullen was a _professional_ – taking great pride in fulfilling his duties as Commander of the Inquisition's forces – and she couldn't imagine Cullen doing anything to jeopardise the work of the Inquisition, particularly not pursuing a potentially ill-fated dalliance with the vaunted Herald of Andraste.

There were times when she thought he might perhaps return her feelings, when his lips curled _just so_ and his eyes smoldered with such intensity she was _sure_ he could see right through her. But while Anwen had always thought herself quite adept at reading people, with Cullen she just wasn't sure. A part of her feared that her own feelings were clouding her judgement, causing her to imagine things that simply weren't there.

So she'd kept her feelings to herself, waiting – perhaps vainly – for the perfect moment to make her confession.

That moment had never come.

Instead the Elder One had led his army to Haven, and as his Red Templars laid siege to the village – the buildings falling into fire and ash as an Archdemon rained death from the skies – Anwen was faced with the terrible reality that she would die without Cullen ever knowing the true depths of her affection.

 _And so she'd kissed him._

And tried to convey in that one gesture just how much he meant to her, just how much she _cared_ for him.

Anwen had thought she was going to die.

 _Of course_ she would be unlucky enough to survive _._

Now nearly a month had passed and they _still_ hadn't spoken about the kiss. Not that they were ignoring each other; it's just that they'd been, well… _busy_. After all, they'd been preoccupied with trying not to _freeze to death_ while traipsing through the Frostbacks. And then Anwen had been made Inquisitor and the arduous work restoring Skyhold had begun.

Although, if Anwen was being completely honest with herself, she was also just _scared_. Because they'd had _plenty_ of conversations since the destruction of Haven – discussing morale amongst Cullen's troops, planning potential missions, even idle chit-chat about books or music – but she'd never dared mention her feelings in case Cullen's response was not what she wanted to hear.

She was a _coward_ – no matter how desperately she tried to deny it or justify it. And that would simply not do. Because Anwen knew she had many faults – vanity, snobbery, arrogance – but cowardice was _not_ one of them.

And that's how she'd found herself marching up to Cullen in Skyhold's yard and asking him to meet her on the battlements in a few hours – _they needed to talk_.

She could have perhaps been a bit gentler with her words, maybe attempted some sort of preamble, because his face blanched at her question and he nodded gravely as if condemned to some grisly execution. But she'd needed to be brisk, had known that her resolve would waver had she attempted anything more delicate or conversational.

Ascending the steps to the battlements, she smiled when she saw him already standing there. He was looking out over the Frostbacks, standing straight and proud, but shifting his weight from foot to foot with nervous energy. He must have heard her footfalls because he turned before she'd reached him, giving her a gentle smile that was partially lost when he raised his arm to scratch at the back of his neck.

"It's a… uh… a nice day," he said by way of a greeting.

Her brows pinched in bemusement, lips twisting into a smirk at his attempt at casual small talk. "Ugh… sure?"

"I mean, it's a… uh… _never mind_ – you didn't ask me here to talk about the weather."

"No…" she replied, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice for fear that he would think she was teasing him (although she had always found the Ferelden custom of starting every conversation with a discussion of the weather endlessly endearing).

"So why _did_ you ask me here?" he asked, fixing her with a strangely intense stare.

Her smirk faded then – realising that this was the moment she'd been avoiding for so long.

"We need to talk about Haven," she said, "back in Haven… when I… uh… _I_ …"

"Kissed me," he supplied helpfully, voice lilting upwards in what sounded like hopefulness. It made her heart skitter.

"Yes – I did that."

They both nodded then, with such business-like solemnity it would have been comical if Anwen didn't feel so utterly, wretchedly awkward.

She sighed, trying to push out all her frustration, then rolled her shoulders in an effort to collect herself. "Look, Cullen," she said, keeping her voice firm, her eye contact steady, "I kissed you in Haven because I thought I was going to die."

She wrinkled her nose; that didn't sound right.

"No, I didn't think that! I mean I _did_ think the last part – the part about dying, that is – but the kiss wasn't motivated by whether or not I thought I may or may not have been about to die."

 _Shit_ – this was not going well.

"Anwen, I understand," Cullen cut in in a valiant attempt to save her from her rambling, "you don't have to say anything more. You were overwhelmed by the moment – and emotions were high – and you did something you didn't mean-"

"No!" she interrupted with such vehemence he startled slightly. Because she _had_ meant it. Anwen had lied and deceived plenty of times in her life but _that kiss_ – that kiss was one of the most honest and true things she'd ever done.

"Cullen, you don't understand. I didn't kiss you because I was overwhelmed or confused or whatever other bullshit you just said. I kissed you because… because I couldn't _bear_ the thought of dying without knowing what it felt like to kiss you!"

His eyes grew wide with shock, and his nervous fidgeting stopped as his body fell strangely still. Her heart felt a twinge of disappointment; it wasn't exactly the reaction she was hoping for but – oh fuck it – she'd said this much, she might as well continue.

"I was ready to die, you see, I was… _content_. Except all I could think about was you, Cullen – _you_. I couldn't bear the thought of dying without you knowing just how much you mean to me. I didn't want to die without you knowing just how much _I care for you_."

He stared at her for a while, the howling of the wind around them making the silence that hung between them even more pointed.

"You _care_ for me?" he ventured at last.

"Yes!" she snapped frustratingly, as if the answer was self-evident. "And I wondered – _I hoped_ – that you could come to care for me too?" She hesitated, uncertain, "could you?"

He smiled then, a little shy – but honest and unguarded. The tension that was usually coiled behind his eyes vanished, allowing mirth to settle in its place. "I could," he said, then quickly added, "I mean – _I do_! Care about you, that is."

She was just about to return his smile when she was interrupted by the press of his lips against hers, gentle but insistent. He raised his hands to cup her cheeks, cradling her face almost reverently. She was immediately struck by how warm he felt, even though they were standing exposed to the wind on the battlements, and with a layer of cold metal between them. Heat radiated from his lips and she felt the pink bloom of a blush spreading from her cheeks and down her neck.

"Commander!" came an eager voice from beside them, accompanied by the loud thud of a door swinging open.

Cullen immediately jumped back from her, turning to the approaching messenger with a terse, "what?!"

"You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report," said the messenger, wilting somewhat under Cullen's glower, "you said you wanted it delivered without delay."

The messenger looked at Anwen, at first with confusion but then with slowly creeping understanding. Anwen gave him a little wave, her face veiled with embarrassment although a crooked smile still graced her lips. He flushed with utter mortification.

He rapidly stepped back, mumbling, "or… to your office?... right…"

The messenger retreated quickly, the door clattering shut behind him, and Anwen chuckled, shaking her head. "You shouldn't be so mean to him – he didn't know you would be on the battlements canoodling with the Inquisitor."

" _Canoodling_?" Cullen asked, eyebrow raised in amusement at her choice of words. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Yes – I think this can definitely be categorised as canoodling."

"Right – well – canoodling it is then."

This time when his lips captured hers, the gentleness was gone and there was a new urgency; perhaps fearing another interruption. His hands cupped her face once more and he stepped forward until Anwen found herself with her back pressed against the stone wall of the battlements. One of his hands slid back to the nape of her neck, grasping dark curls between spread fingers. The other hand slipped boldly downwards, sliding across her collarbone, skimming across her breast, and then coming to rest on her waist.

She mewled against his mouth when he gave her waist a gentle squeeze, felt faintly embarrassed at how needy she sounded. He took the opportunity to tentatively taste her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, smiled against her mouth when she parted her lips invitingly. Anwen hooked her hands into the leather straps on the front of Cullen's chest plate, gave them a sharp tug to pull him closer to her, to deepen the kiss. His chuckle at her enthusiasm was lost in her mouth, the slight humming sensation making her tingle.

Finally they parted, either from want of breath or suddenly realising that they were standing in quite an exposed spot for prying eyes. She rested her forehead on his chest plate as she tried to steady her breathing. It was an oddly comforting position, head bowed, safe in the circle of Cullen's arms.

When she felt him press a quick kiss to her crown, she looked up and tried not to feel overwhelmed by how much affection she saw in his eyes. "That was… really nice," he breathed.

"Nice?" she asked somewhat despairingly, eyebrows contorted in disapproval, "bloody hell, Cullen, I think we can do better than _nice_."

He laughed at that, dark and low and rumbling; it made her toes curl. "Then I guess we'll have to just – keep going."

When he brought down his lips to hers once more, Anwen could think of many words to describe the kiss – urgent, hungry, _hot_ – but none of them were _nice_.


End file.
